


Fictober/Whumptober 2020 Prompts

by azurefishnets



Series: Ghost Trick: Phantom Train (A Final Fantasy/Ghost Trick Crossover AU) [9]
Category: Final Fantasy VI, Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Fictober 2020, Multi, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 12,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/pseuds/azurefishnets
Summary: 2020 Whumptober Prompts/Fictober Prompts, Ghost Trick: Phantom Train Style!
Relationships: A variety of & situations..., Alma/Cabanela/Jowd (Ghost Trick), Lynne/Memry (Ghost Trick)
Series: Ghost Trick: Phantom Train (A Final Fantasy/Ghost Trick Crossover AU) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1196335
Comments: 25
Kudos: 7





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> 100-500 word fills to prompts, all based in the Final Fantasy VI/Ghost Trick AU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Restrained

Jowd came back to himself, slow, painful. He remembered falling, their hands slipping from his—he wasn’t blessed enough to forget that no matter how long he lived. Fortunately, that likely wouldn’t be long; beyond the pain he could feel that he was under immense weight. His back pressed to the cold rocks underneath him; was he broken too, then, like the Ladybird? Dashed against the cold shore?

He opened his salt-rimed eyes, wincing at their stinging as he looked up into a bloody sky. Whether the sun was rising or setting, he couldn’t tell; nor could he see the faint pinpricks of stars shining through the haze. It seemed he’d washed ashore, just more jetsam in a dead ocean. Whose load would he lighten if he allowed the sand to take him in? He’d failed.

He strained his ears, listening for any noise, just one word to convince him to stay, but the ocean roared mockingly at him as he waited through the long moments. No birds. No people. Only silence, stretching from horizon to horizon. He could feel the strength coming back to his limbs, the torpor of waking passing off and settling into simple boredom. How long before he died, if he waited here for the ocean to take him back? Would he at least be food for the seagulls? Or would this death, too, be as useless as the five years of waiting?

No. Enough waiting. Here on this cold beach, or there in that cold cell, his last choice was how to die at least. Let it be for a purpose. What purpose was left in an empty world he did not know, but he had chosen to protect others time and again over himself. Let there be one more, even one, and he would give himself for them.

He gathered his strength, let the magic come, and healed the superficial injuries he knew were there but that he couldn’t see. That pain faded. The weight restraining him became more noticeable. A few tentative shimmies assured him that he wouldn’t be able to crawl out without collapsing the entire fragile structure. He’d have to be quick, use his legs and back to raise it enough to get out. He heaved. It shouldn’t have been so easy.

Panting, he stood on the beach, staring at the shredded remnants of the once-proud airship. He’d lifted its weight off himself and he was free. Free of responsibilities. Of purpose. Of the insane quest that had consumed them all. Free.

Why did he still feel its weight, so much heavier than the Ladybird’s bulk over him? Why did he still feel so restrained?


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. "Pick who dies."

The soldiers Cabanela had plucked from the new batch stood to attention. The first, picked for his fine blue eyes, so clear and too honest. The second, a defiant glare from under long lashes that reminded him of too many hot, sandy days in the presence of someone who refused and kept refusing looong past reason. The third… well, the third, baby, he just didn’t like that one’s face. It wasn’t good enough to be part of this Empire’s military.

He turned his back on them, knowing their fear would keep them in line. _Some_ people were trustworthy that way… or at the least, predictable. His shadow stood, masked, crowned, waiting. Ohhh, what a multitude of sins the mask hid as it gleamed spotlessly in the dimmed room. Perfect.

“Theeere you go, puppet, take your pick.” He strutted between them. “Aaany one you like.”

His shadow didn’t move. Those eyes behind the mask were blank and dark, not a spark of intelligence there. Just the way a puppet should be, but his waiting master was unsatisfied.

“Oh, come now, it’s no fuuun if you don’t play the game,” he said. “All you have to do is pick. Point and one looovely little zap! Nothing like it!” He draped himself over his shadow’s shoulders and brandished a finger, sparks dancing as he demonstrated. He drew a line playfully down the blank face of the mask, and the sparks disappeared into the porcelain as though they’d never been. Fascinating. “See, and theeen it will all be over.”

Yet through it all, his shadow stood stubborn, still and silent. Losing patience, Cabanela danced over to the soldiers. “I see I wasn’t clear enough. Pick one and kill them.” He tapped their noses one by one, showing off those blue eyes, those long lashes, that foolish, spectacled face, all three now trembling in fear. He tossed a coy glance over his shoulder and twirled away, gesturing to them like a stage magician. “Now, puppet.”

His shadow raised his hand, one elegant finger already pointing, and there at last came the magic, nearly incinerating the man who danced between the other three. It was a clean, precise shot, but it missed Cabanela, as did the one immediately following. He capered, laughing, between the bolts.

“Very, veeery good, puppet, very clever. Stop.” He didn’t even have to raise his voice over the thunder, so attuned was his shadow to his orders. The judging hand dropped as if the strings had been cut.

“Wooouldn’t it be nice if it were that easy?” he whispered in his shadow’s exposed ears, relishing the hope that had bloomed in the soldiers’ eyes. “But now you dance to myyy tune.”

He sauntered to the door and turned, just before closing it behind him. “Kill all three and leave the room spotless when you’re done.”

The door closed behind him; the screams began. He smiled, and leaned against the wall to relish the moves of a game only just begun.


	3. "You Did This?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You Did This?" (Fictober)

Alma, grinning, led Cabanela over unfamiliar ground by a hand, Jowd's solid presence at his back keeping him moving forward, not that he was protesting _per se_ , of cooourse not, but the blindfold was maybe a bit much for polite company, didn't they think?

A couple of rumbled words in his ear, something to the effect of the fact there was certainly no company he'd call polite nearby and maybe that was a good thing, nearly _did_ make his feet falter, and Alma leaning in and nipping his other ear didn't help. Jowd’s hand on his back and her fingers twining in his kept him steady nevertheless as they walked forward, through a large, cool, dimly lit space and then out into a large, brighter area, the sun shining warm on his face as he tipped it up.

Jowd's fingers lingered in his hair as he lifted the blindfold away, and Cabanela kept his eyes closed a moment more to savor the kisses they gave him, one after another. Jowd, a brief perfunctory peck on the corner of his mouth that Cabanela knew was geared to make him let out an inarticulate noise of protest, and which melted into a longer kiss that left Cabanela's arms curled around his neck. Alma's, tender and lingering, ending with a brief trailing of feather-light kisses and a nuzzle into the hollow of Cabanela's throat. 

“Open your eyes,” they whispered together into his ears, and in the force of that gentle dual request, his eyes blinked open. This place he'd once known well; the clearing in Tzen where the training school had once stood had been transformed, building materials stacked neatly on palettes.

He turned and met their eyes, just a little nervous. “Yooou did this?”

Alma smiled softlyat him. “I remembered… and I thought—hoped? your plans might have changed as far as homes go, but Jowd suggested a possible plan for this place…”

They regarded him, both anxious in their own ways. “Only if you want it, of course, and we'll help however you ask,” Alma assured him. “But you said before Tzen was nothing like home for you anymore…and Figaro is your home now! But this could provide homes to so many more…”

“…and who better than a local looovely man in white to be the one in charge, baby?” Jowd finished, grinning unrepentantly when Cabanela gave him a reproving look for his terrible impersonation, and finished without shame, “…but make sure you come home to us or we’ll have to come get you again.”

It _was_ a lovely idea, to be sure, but the loveliest part of all was that reminder, always welcome, that they wanted him to have a permanent home with them. Who could resist such enthusiasm? Certainly not Cabanela. He flung himself into Jowd's waiting arms and together they drew in Alma, and with many kisses he let them know he wasn’t going anywhere that they weren’t always, always welcome too.


	4. "Didn't Stop You Before"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Didn't Stop You Before" (Fictober)

Lynne flew through the door, surprising Cabanela, who paced the floor with urgent steps as he gesticulated, talking strategy and plans with Narshe’s minister of justice. She, in turn, looked shocked to see Cabanela, but ran to the pile of supplies and began stuffing items in her pack.

“Battle’s over,” she said, glaring at him while she threw bags of dried meat for Missile into her own pack along with bits and pieces of gear she thought they’d need. “The Queen and I have to go; Sissel’s gone. You’d better get ready to go too.”

Cabanela wasted no time and began to pack, pretending not to notice as she kept her guard and moved to the opposite side of the room. “What happened out theeere in the snow, baby?”

She kept her movements brief and guarded, watching him like a hawk. “We were overwhelmed, soldiers and their dogs everywhere. Their leader nearly killed us all with his spells, but spared Alma when she attacked him. He sounded _really_ familiar…although he wore a mask…” Her eyes met his, hard and suspicious.

“I’ve been here, where my Queen ordered me,” protested Cabanela at once. “If you’ve got an accusation here, baby, just say it.”

The justice minister interjected, “I had to leave for a few minutes, but he was here the whole time, I know it. There was a guard just outside the door.”

Lynne shrugged. “All I know is, the masked man disappeared after the battle and Alma told me to get Cabanela _if_ he was still here. Sissel flew off toward Kohlingen, and we’re heading to Figaro. I don’t see injuries…” she inspected him with one quick look up and down, “but you’ve got your healing magic so that’s no proof. Are you going to come quietly?”

“I don’t know about quiiiet, baby,” drawled Cabanela, “but whatever my Queen commands.”

Lynne gave him another look, some complicated emotions crossing her face, but settled on worried. “Don’t make me regret rescuing you, Cabanela.”

“She needs my help,” he said, stung. “I wouldn’t leave her when she needs it the most.”

Lynne gave him a wry look. “Didn’t stop you before, did it?” She gestured him ahead of her, leaving the small warm room where the justice minister still paced, and followed him down the path toward where their queen waited. Despite his words before, Cabanela was silent the whole way there, and his face was more thoughtful than she’d ever seen it.


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Run

Cidgeon slouched through town, uncomfortable in his borrowed clothes and head covering. He was too well known in the Empire, especially in Albrook from his frequent comings and goings, to go without a disguise. Jowd strolled along behind him, looking altogether disinterested in whether their escape attempt failed or not. Although he was an unknown in the Empire, they couldn’t risk his description getting back to the palace, so he, too, wore a head covering although nothing could adequately hide his height or bulk.

Cidgeon had suggested he shave, but Jowd had merely laughed. “You have your lady and I have my beard and that’s just the way things are,” he’d said, giving Lovey-Dove’s head a gentle scritch. “If we were otherwise, who’s to say who we’d be?”

Cidgeon had, somewhat grumpily, called it a false equivalency but let the subject drop. Jowd evidently had complicated feelings regarding the beard. He _had_ taken the first available opportunity to trim and shape it back to his preferred shape, and avoided Cidgeon’s eyes while doing so. But he’d taken alternate clothes from the innkeeper back in Vector easily enough, easily shedding the too-visible pink smock and striped pants for a drab cloak with a hood. 

There were few ships in the Albrook harbor, having all been conscripted to the war efforts, and the Yonoa, the Empire’s newest and most famous magitek prototype submarine, was conspicuously absent. The normal ship Cidgeon used to go back and forth to Thamasa was out of the question, as the captain had recently been replaced with one of General Beauty’s loyalists, but there were always other ships and other captains willing to take a bribe to allow two able-bodied crewmembers to join the crew manifest as monster-fighting security. The trip to Mobliz should be fairly uneventful, Cidgeon figured, and they could slip off somewhere in the night on the trip up the strait between the Veldt and Thamasa’s island.

In the end, the only trouble on the trip they encountered was a too-inquisitive first mate, who discovered Lovey-Dove and attempted to capture her and the magitek she contained for sale back to the Empire, but a few of Jowd’s reasonably-voiced suggestions combined with the threat of a bullet-fast punch into the sea had settled him for now. Nevertheless, Cidgeon knew their days of safety were numbered, not least because he’d ensured before they left the ship that the first mate would know what it was to be small and weak. His Dischord spell would only last so long, but they’d made themselves memorable. They needed to disappear into the waiting arms of the rebellion, and soon.


	6. 6. Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No More

Lynne rolled over in her bedroll and peered over at Cait Sissel, who floated at her side. Over a year of being magicite had given her time to master the harder aspects of being living stone. They had been travelling together, using each other, for that time. Lynne liked to think that perhaps Cait Sissel took some solace from her presence, despite her ongoing fugue; Cait Sissel, in turn, seemed to know that Lynne was in no state to wander alone.

They’d caught a rumor two months previously: an Esper ruled the mountains to the northeast, it was said, one with the power of eternal life. Lynne had turned her steps that way immediately. She couldn’t save anyone else, hadn’t been able to guard her royals from their deaths, but with this, she could save just one. If Cait Sissel could be resurrected, no matter her mental state, two Espers might have survived this mess.

Alone but together, they took the slow and cautious trek from Jidoor to Maranda and over the deadened sea towards Tzen, then up through the decayed forests of petrified stone and profound desert where nothing and no one lived. Lynne and Cait Sissel worked hard to protect each other, Lynne with all the magic she could muster from other magicite she’d met before the cataclysm, and Cait Sissel joining in when she could, although her own spells were not well-tempered for combat. She’d given her own magic to Lynne long since; that was part of the pact they’d made to “use” each other. Through it all they forged a kind of friendship, lonely and grieving human to lonely and grieving esper.

They paused before scaling the volcanic range of mountains that hid the fabled Phoenix Cave, one more not-night in the chilly air before descending into the depths of the earth. In the not-morning, before the final push, Cait Sissel hung back, floating uncertainly in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Lynne asked, turning to her.

 _“The sun falters, the stars sing in broken chords, the pale moon falls,”_ the Esper said, turning her “face” to something only she could see, far to the northeast. _“It hurts it hurts it_ hurts! _Please, no more!”_

She screamed, a high crystalline note that rang through the cold air and seemed to ripple through the bleeding sky. Lynne clapped her hands to her ears.

“What’s happening?!” She reached for the magicite and drew her fingers back, stung. Cait Sissel was so cold she burned. She could do nothing more, only wait for the Esper to come back to herself. At last, Cait Sissel floated back towards the earth and turned back to face her.

_“I… I’m all right.”_

Lynne stared. This was the most lucid she’d ever heard her friend. “What happened?”

 _“I think… the mask was broken at last,”_ Cait Sissel said, her voice getting stronger. “ _How, I don’t know, but I can feel my family out there, where I couldn’t before…like a magic that was being suppressed was unsealed. But in a good way?”_

“And now you’re, um…. sane again?” Lynne grinned. “Wow! So do you remember everything?”

“I do…and you were much more patient with me than I ever expected from a human besides…well. Never mind,” Cait Sissel said. “… but thank you.”

“No need to thank me! I ‘m just so glad!” Lynne gave the esper her biggest smile through tears. One, saved. Kind of. “Well, we can’t shake hands, but I’m glad to meet you again. I can’t wait to get to know the _real_ you.”

“ _Neither can I.”_ Cait Sissel said slowly, and floated back to her place by Lynne’s head. _“We should go. There’s an important meeting ahead of us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I broke my own rules on this one and all I can say is....oh well!


	7. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. Support (Whumptober)

Jowd stared out to sea, his gaze flat and morose. The sun dazzled gold over the ocean in the late afternoon; the sky was blue and deep and endless. To a man who’d missed the blue and golds of his homeland for five years, his heart should have been swelling like the waves, but instead he was empty of mind and soul. He’d gone through the motions escaping the Empire, then of working on-board with the same paucity of thought he’d allowed himself back in his cell. Stoke this fire. Coil that line. Yes, sir. He was no king here in this endless blue, a few tense moments with the first mate to the contrary, and following these innocuous orders with a blank mind felt… right, in a way he knew should disturb him. He also knew his rescuer worried, but it was hard to care much. How else was he to get through his days? He didn’t know how to give orders anymore, how to bend others to his will even in the most benign of ways. He didn’t much want to relearn it, either.

His family was waiting, so he’d been told, but _he_ was out there too, and Cabanela would never stop. There was nowhere in this world that was safe from that one’s will. Even across lands and oceans, Jowd could almost feel that desire pulling at him, compelling him to be what was ordered and no more.

He ignored Lovey-Dove pulling his hair until the splash; Cidgeon floundered in the water to the stern. Jowd didn’t bother yelling for help or dithering; no thought prompted him to jump after the professor. Jowd wasn’t the world’s strongest swimmer, although Alma had once done her best to teach him, but he was able to bob with the waves until the boat’s wake passed them by and then swim to Cidgeon’s side as Lovey-Dove circled anxiously overhead and the ship disappeared, leaving him trying not to think about the vast depths under his feet or of sinking into the quiet ocean.

“Thought you’d never get the message, boy,” Cidgeon said, casting Aqua Rake and sending them a few feet through the scudding waves. “Could use a little help here if you felt so inclined.”

Jowd nearly laughed as he dodged a salty slap to the face from a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do? Can’t punch the ocean.”

Cidgeon threw him an irritable glare. “Espers gave their lives for you, boy; don’t let their sacrifice or their support go wasted. I shouldn’t have to tell you what to do from here if you use the resources you have wisely.”

Jowd laughed for real that time. Freedom of choice to let them drown or get them to shore? Well, it wasn’t so far when he summoned Bismuth. He lay on the shore and waited for the next order. It never came. Cidgeon began to walk inland and, eventually, Jowd followed him of his own volition.


	8. Where Did Everybody Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8\. Isolation

_Figaro’s King has gone away_  
_And no one knows where to find him_  
_They say a shadow stole him away_  
_With hundreds of chains to bind him_

_Figaro’s Heir has disappeared_  
_Like magic she was taken_  
_They say her loss was engineered_  
_Her tools were all forsaken_

_Vector’s jester has come to try_  
_Again and again to beat us_  
_The queen's tears have no time to dry_  
_But the Empire shan’t mistreat us_

_Figaro’s Queen is sad and alone_  
_And gives the guards their orders_  
_She fights the Empire from her throne_  
_And closes Figaro’s borders_

\--Children's skipping rhyme, South Figaro  
c. World of Balance final years


	9. For the Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. Run

Alma pounded over the grasslands, following Jowd as he ducked and dodged shots from the strange mechanical machines chasing them. There’d been no time to grieve as they’d exited the forest surrounding the uncanny depot where the train had left them; the soldiers had come from nowhere.

They seemed to be everywhere; Alma supposed they were from the seemingly abandoned Imperial camp they’d passed before finding Doma. She should have known—she tried to stop herself. Running for her life was no time for self-recriminations, but Figaro’s alliance with the Empire hadn’t stopped the unease between them and Doma and now…and now Doma had paid for Figaro’s complacence in blood.

Until her own dying day, she would remember the empty faces of her mother and father, her recently-crowned sister Meg, and the other people of Doma with whom she’d grown up, all crowding the caboose of that spectral train to see her one last time. There, a guard who’d once laughed with her on one of Jowd’s early visits. There, her nurse from childhood. The people she’d loved had been on the train, staring at her as they were taken away. And now, if she didn’t want to join them, she had to run yet again.

They made their last stand at Baren Falls, which led to the Veldt. Despite its closeness to Doma, and despite Mobliz being one of the cities technically under Doman rule, Alma had never been there. They would have to seek asylum and then, somehow, return home from the Veldt.

She stood with Jowd at the precipice now, parrying the blasting shots with her sword and trusting his sure feet and punches. They would win this. The Empire would pay…but her distraction cost her precious reaction time and a lucky shot caught her blade and sent it spinning over the waterfall. She settled into a defensive stance, ready to continue to fight, not noticing the way Jowd frowned at her in sudden calculation.

“I love you,” he said, or she thought, later, she’d heard him say one last time. “Don’t stop running until you’re back in Figaro.” He launched himself in a flurry of punches at one of the walking armored soldiers, knocking it down, and landed again, lightly, next to her. “Goodbye.” He moved in front of her, crowding her back to the precipice.

“Jowd, no, don’t—” She only had time to gasp out before he knocked her over and down the falls. She could still see him as he was forced to his knees, his blue eyes going as empty as the ghosts’ on the train as he let her go. In Mobliz, all the long and weary way home, she saw it again and again, and vowed to herself that she would never do the same. Cabanela would know how to fight the Empire; they would get their king back together. The train would not win him yet.


	10. All I Ever Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Fictober)

Cabanela moves through his days with desperate energy, filling Mobliz with all the light he can exude, a supernova that brings growth to the ruined town. People flock to it, to him, bringing resources and supplies. Sometimes, when they get there, they see his face and recoil. They’d heard the rumors but didn’t realize the truth of his connection to the dead would-be god at the center of the world.

There are those who never recover from that glimpse; they leave Mobliz and take the poison they saw away with them. Some stay and allow explanation. Cabanela has grown past the need to tell the stories for himself. His legend grows and flourishes by the day, like the tiny garden he maintains out behind the old relic shop, now his own quarters. Those who stay learn to temper their judgment, to see the world as he sees it. Sometimes they leave, after time reflecting, and take the light he gives so freely with him, spreading it through the world’s cities as they recover.

The sun that is Cabanela is rising in the east, and the world basks in it. In the west, however, they whisper that the shadows he casts are long, and afflict the king and queen of Figaro most of all, although they, too, strive and succeed to bring light back to the barren lands in more understated ways.

Even the nights in Mobliz are lit to brilliance by the influence of Cabanela’s presence. The new city outshines doomed Vector as many a raucous evening is spent in song and dance, with sharing company and sharing stories and secrets. He is not alone, there in Mobliz. No one could expect that of him. It is only in the deepening of the night, when everyone else is asleep, that Cabanela, at last, takes a few moments to write his letters to Figaro. What those in Mobliz do not know is that, for Cabanela, the sun does not rise in the east; there is a far greater source of light elsewhere. Each night without fail he turns his eyes to the west and waits for the dawn.


	11. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Whumptober)

Alma would almost rather die than miss a step in this dance, if it would not leave her husband’s kingdom open to the depredations of the Empire, and so she can do neither. Her face stays frozen in its mask of polite smile. His arms around her waist draw her closer and closer; they whirl around the dance floor in a display of absolute grace.

He speaks and she hears nothing but Jowd’s voice telling her to run until she reached Figaro. The hopes she’d had then were the dreams of a child; she realizes that now as she looks into dark blue eyes that spark with amusement and a dark joy in her discomfort. She must conduct herself with pride. She must not show her disgust.

He speaks and she remembers when she hung on his words, and when he hung on hers. When did he stop listening? What had she missed?

She is so very tired of this game, but she knows he plays it well. Somehow, she has to play it better, dance in circles around him even though he thinks he’s calling the tune. When will it end? When will Lynne return with the news that will turn the tide?

She dances on into the evening, her spine steel-straight and resistant to his grip, and she looks past Cabanela’s face to the throne of Figaro. Who is she doing this for? With Jowd, Kamila, and Tabatha gone, there is no one of the Figaro royal line left, and no one but her to care if Figaro falls, but she meets his eyes again. If his gaze is sparks, hers is the depths of an icy ocean. Lightning may strike the surface, but he will never touch the core of her, not again.

Doma fell. Figaro will not.


	12. Broken Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Whumptober)

_“Dear Tabatha,”_

_“To Her Majesty the Queen Mother of Figaro,”_

_“ ~~Dear Mother,~~ "_

Alma swept her arm across the desk and sent these pitiful attempts at letter-writing and the others, even more truncated, toward the floor. She stared at the resultant mess in frustration, then, muttering, bent to pick them up. Like her husband and—her mind truncated that thought too, but like her husband, she wasn’t one for a messy room or making work for the castle staff.

As she restored her desk to writing usability and stared down at yet another blank letter, her hands stilled. Why was she doing this in the first place? Jowd’s mother was just as gone as the others. Any dreams Alma had had of Tabatha coming back to help had been quashed in the first year after Jowd and Kamila had disappeared. This had gone beyond the kind of testing of her abilities Tabatha enjoyed. This was Tabatha washing her hands of the whole affair.

Alma had always looked up to Jowd’s mother; she had been strong and intelligent and every bit the ruler Alma had dreamed of being. Her own mother and Tabatha had seemed unstoppable, a powerful force, and yet, her mother had been felled so easily and Tabatha…had run.

Slowly, Alma watched herself put the writing utensils away as if her hands were alien and unconnected to her. She ensured once more the desk was clean and tidy, and then got up, walked to the door, and turned off the lantern, leaving her trash basket and her foolish hopes behind yet again.


	13. I Missed This

The stack of paperwork had, perhaps, gotten a bit shorter in the several hours they’d been working on it together; but still, there was so much after so long away that even the excellent Rindge had been unable to handle that the desk in the royal suites was covered in neat stacks. Alma took a long stretch, playfully tugging Jowd’s beard as she straightened her back. He caught her hand absently, brushing her fingers with his lips, and turned to her, drawing her in for a more prolonged embrace. She kissed him back, slipping onto his lap, and put her forehead to his. “I missed this,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

“Gods, so much,” he said, and kissed her again. “I missed you even more than the paperwork.”

“ _That_ much? I’m so flattered,” she said, fluttering her lashes, and they both chuckled, their breaths mingling. As they kissed once more, a knock on the door interrupted them, although Jowd’s hand lingered in Alma’s as she stood, smoothed her hair and dress, and bade whoever it was to enter.

One of the newer guards stood waiting and said nervously. “Your Majesties…uh, Her Majesty the Queen Mother requests entrance to your presence.”

Jowd’s eyebrows rose. “Ma’s here? Tell her to quit being so formal and come in.”

Tabatha poked her head around the door, towering over the guard. “There’s my boy! And my girl too!”

Alma’s hand went stiff in Jowd’s and she mumbled some polite words as Tabatha came in and made herself comfortable, but before long, she made her excuses and left, heading for parts unknown within the palace.

“Was it something I said?” Tabatha said, peering after her.

Jowd shrugged, his face blank and unreadable. Tabatha’s was the same as they stared each other down, both knowing the problem, neither willing to confront each other about it.

“I’ve decided to come back to the castle,” Tabatha said at last, after a long silence. “There’s unfinished business here and you know how much I hate that.”

Jowd nodded. He knew. “You should get to know some of the new people. You and Cidgeon will likely get along like a house afire… just don’t burn the rest of the castle down or we’ll have to submerge without warning.”

Tabatha laughed. “Ha! I’ll look forward to it.” She gazed at the door again, eyes wistful. “And…Alma? Any fire to look forward to there? Or am I in for icy weather?”

Jowd lowered his eyes to the paperwork. “You’ll have to take that up with her.” There was another long pause. “She missed you.” He made a gesture, encompassing the castle, their family, the situation. “She missed this.”

Tabatha nodded. “So did I. We’ll start there.”

Jowd shrugged. “Your funeral.” Tabatha chuckled and left. Jowd stared at the paperwork some more, and with a heavy sigh, abandoned it to go find his queen and deduce whether that ice might thaw any time soon.


	14. Heat Exhaustion

Lynne paused in her climb, and wiped sweat off her forehead. Her hand came away dripping, and she grimaced. “Ewww. That’s…” her brow furrowed. “Well. We’re hiking around a bunch of lava so what can you expect anyway.”

Cait Sissel floated close, bathing Lynne in cool green light. _“Umm…are you all right?”_

“It’s really, really hot,” Lynne said, shrugging. “So I’m as all right as I’m gonna get, I guess. Are _you_ all right?”

Cait Sissel bobbed in the air. _“Stone-cold is a thing humans say about being dead, right?”_

“I’d prefer they didn’t,” Lynne said, making a face. “Or you either. But duly noted, thanks.” She rubbed her forehead. “My headache was already bad enough.” She carefully placed her next grip and started to swing upward. “Urrghhh…”

_“What?”_

“Feeling pretty sick all of a sudden…” Lynne dangled from the rock face, fighting back the nausea. “Hey, can you float up and see how much further I’ve got to climb?”

Cait Sissel did so and reported back _“There’s quite a bit to the top but…there’s a small cave about halfway there that I think you could rest on…”_

“Mmph.” Lynne’s face contorted. “Yeah…maybe I can…” She began to struggle upwards. “Whoops!” Her sweaty hands slipped free and she began to teeter backwards. Her eyes went wide, but before she could scream, her fall slowed, then stopped, and she hung in the air.

 _“Lynne! Hang on!”_ Cait Sissel dropped into her hand. _“You have to cast the spell! I can only hold you so long without your own will to back me up…”_

“F-float!” Lynne said, panting in fear and shock, and the spell obligingly expanded and began to lift her.

“Goddesses,” Lynne said, when she reached the “cave,” which was more like a small dent in the rock just big enough to hold her. “That was close…”

 _“I- I thought I would lose you too…”_ the esper said, her light dimming. “ _You have to be more careful! This isn’t worth you dying!”_

“What’s a little dying?” Lynne said carelessly. “ _You_ already did it once!”

 _“It’s different for me!”_ Cait Sissel hissed, her light flaring. “You _won’t come back as a magicite! And then I’d be alone again!”_

“Huh.” Lynne blinked. “I…wouldn’t want to be all alone here either. We still need each other after all!”

 _“…Yes,”_ Cait Sissel said, subsiding. _“So…rest there. Cool off.”_

 _“_ Yeah, OK.” Lynne edged back further into the stone niche. “Good thing I like small spaces.”

 _“Me too.”_ Cait Sissel dropped into Lynne’s pack. _“Cast an ice spell so you have some water."_

“Yeah.” Lynne nodded and did so, pouring the rapidly melting water over her head after taking a few sips. “Thanks for saving me?”

_“Don’t make me do it again.”_

“…yeah, no promises.” Lynne paused, then yawned. “Sorry, I’m kidding. I’ll try.” She dropped into a light doze after a moment, leaving Cait Sissel to wonder anew at humans and their senses of humor.


	15. Science Gone Wrong

Asbolus threw down his pen and snarled in frustration. “What? What do you want?” he snarled at the hapless lab assistant, who waited pensively at his elbow.

“Doctor, Caba— the servant-born from Tzen is here again. You asked us to tell you if anyone got past the third round of tests?”

Asbolus blinked, and a pleased smile spread across his face. “Oh, really? What does that bring us to now?”

“That puts us at eight who’ve made it through so far, sir.” The assistant’s face turned a little paler. “The others have…survived, but, umm….barely.”

“Bah, I don’t care about subjects too weak to make it through the initial trials,” Asbolus dismissed them with a wave of his hand, “but hmm. Looks like I missed a bet with the kid from Tzen. Should have kept him in the first place.”

“Professor Cidgeon has consistently made fine reports on his progress, hasn’t he, Doctor?” the assistant said, looking startled.

“Hmph. The so-called professor has never known how to draw out that kid’s true potential,” Asbolus scoffed. “In my hands, he’d have been so much more…malleable.”

“It’s a pity he’s not like that adjutant, eh, sir?”

“Hah?” Asbolus gave the assistant a stare. “The metal monstrosity of the Emperor’s? Cidgeon’s toy is basically just scrap.”

“Well…I just meant he obeys every order the Emperor gives,” the assistant said, looking uncomfortable. “He’s basically the perfect bodyguard. He even has a few simple spells for protecting the Emperor.”

Asbolus tilted his head. “And how the Professor knew how to do that we’ve never known, have we…”

“Sir?”

“Whatever the Professor can do, I can do better,” Asbolus said firmly. “Bring me the Emperor’s Adjutant and a selection of the Esper plasma we’ve already taken and catalogued, with a focus on the ones that seem defensive. I think it’s time for a little experiment in…what’s it called? Magitek.” The assistant bowed and began to leave.

“Wait.” Asbolus eyes him up and down. “Have _you_ gone through the tests? I don’t recall seeing your name in the lists, Tinctoria.”

“Err, not yet, sir.” The research assistant went a paler blue. “I’d thought castle staff were volunteer-only?”

“Mm, for now. But if you want to keep your job, you may want to consider….volunteering.”

“Er…yes, Doctor.”

“Report to the examination rooms after you bring me the adjutant.” Asbolus turned away as the assistant backed out of the room and smiled, although it was not humor but savage satisfaction in his eyes as he bent to his journals. _“First, the perfect guardian. And then…the perfect weapon. I even have the perfect control subject…assuming he lives through the fifth battery of tests. The Empire shall prevail over magic… and it will be due to my research.”_


	16. Hallucinations

Missile bounced in place, barking in frenzied passion at an Apocrypha who’d crossed his path. The demons populated the Veldt now, and Missile considered it his duty and his right to fight all demons and bad people who might move onto this land while he waited with faithful patience for his Miss Lynne. He could tell he was getting stronger; these demons usually presented little threat and he’d already finished off its companions. He dashed forward, biting at the thing’s muscled legs, ignoring the weak purple flames that surrounded it. He already knew they were an illusion.

The monster hissed, growling something. If they were words, they were intelligible only to it. A second later, the spell hit Missile and his head swam. Did he hear voices drifting on the ever-present wind? He sniffed. The scent of the dried meat Miss Lynne had always carried hovered tantalizingly on the air. Barking, he ignored the monster and raced past it for the source of the sound, bounding over the tall grasses of the Veldt in joyous abandon.

_“Miss Lynne! Miss Kamila!”_

There was no reply. The voices grew no louder. The scent grew no stronger. But he could almost hear words in there… “ _Little waaarrior…come here, buddy…”_ Missile tilted his head to the side. That wasn’t quite right, was it? Mister Cabanela had been a bad guy after all. Hadn’t he? He tilted his head to the other side. More words, “ _Hmm. I think someone needs a B-A-T-H,”_ and the luscious, slithery smell of ink and seafood drifted on the wind.

Whimpering, Missile’s ears flattened. He knew what that meant, and he turned and fled the other way, seeking Miss Lynne’s voice again. The monster hove once more into sight; it was clearly too stupid to have fled. It raised its hand and swiped at him, scratching him on the flank, and Missile suddenly knew he’d been confused. He chose that moment to bite it again, following that up with one of the spells he knew: lightning, since the thing had made him think of Mister Cabanela and be sad. The monster fell, vanquished, and Missile turned his back on it.

He cast a quick cure spell on himself and the little damage it had inflicted on him disappeared, but Missile still whimpered. _Bad_ thing, for making him think they were here. They _would_ be here, of course. But he was still alone, and now he was hungry. He thought for a minute, and barked his loudest, happiest bark at the sky, before trotting away to find a more palatable meal than stupid, frustrating demon meat.

 **“ _Welcome!_ ”** If he just kept barking, the flying ship would bring him his Miss Lynne someday. He just knew it.


	17. "Give me a minute or an hour"

Bailey danced; Cabanela watched. It should be easy to pick these dance steps up; in fact he could already mimic the moogle with perfect precision. When _he_ danced, though, no one seemed to be affected by it the way Bailey affected people. He grinned a wry grin at himself. Surely it wasn’t flattering himself to think they were still affected! But not with extra strength, or healing, or anything unduly magical. But the moogle had cured him with a dance…Cabanela hated being left out of such a useful skill set. On the other hand…

“Well, baby, I guess you can stop now,” he conceded after another few minutes. “I’d be happy to dance with you anytime but neither of us is gettin’ much out of this.”

“Uh…Mister Cabanela, I don’t actually! Know how to stop!” Bailey said. “The turning of the planet! Or my dancing! One will stop first!”

“Planet already stooopped once, man,” Cabanela drawled. “So you can stop any time.”

“Oh!” Bailey looked thoughtful. “Well…maybe one more minute! Or an hour…”

“…Anyhoot, I’ll leave you to it.”


	18. Panic Attacks

Lynne dropped into the mines below Narshe and landed easily on hard-packed earth, deep below the surface. Missile jumped down after her and she caught him easily, then put him down.

 _“Is this him, Miss Lynne?”_ he asked, sniffing at the unconscious man who lay crumpled on the ground. “ _He’s not waking up…”_

Lynne nodded. “Matches the description…although you gotta wonder if he’s really as dangerous as all that.”

Missile sniffed him. _“He sure smells different. Like… a cat.”_

“A cat?” Lynne chuckled. “If you say so.” She looked up. “Hey, what else do you smell?”

 _“Lots of dogs and soldiers coming this way…”_ Missile said slowly. “ _And…another weird smell. Not exactly like you but not like Mister Cat here either.”_

 _“_ That’s what we’re calling him…? Well, whatever. Looks like we need to go, now.” Lynne bent to try to pick up the man. “Oof.” She shook him a little. “Uhh…excuse me.”

He didn’t move.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Still no movement.

“Huh. Hope he’s not dead.” Lynne shrugged. “We’re gonna have to drag him, buddy.”

 _“Miss Lynne! They’re here!”_ Missile barked. **_“Welcome!”_**

“So much for the element of surprise…” Lynne muttered. “OK. So we’re doing this.” She began to prepare for battle, but just then a door in the wall of the cave opened behind Lynne, Missile, and the unconscious man, and small furry figures began to pour out. One stopped in front of her, and adjusted his hat lower on his head, although she already couldn’t see his eyes.

“What do you think? Surprised?” He gestured broadly. “It’s our ‘Gotcha!’ move!”

“Uh…” Lynne blinked. “OK, I’m... not sure what’s happening here…are _you_ taking us prisoner now?” She looked at the figures, already spreading out into the caves beyond and preparing for battle.

“Hey!” the one in front of her said, pointing at the unconscious man. “Is he…dead?”

 _“Dead? Of course not!”_ Missile said.

The figure jumped back with exaggerated caution. “Oh! I thought I’d surprise you, but you surprised me! …You’re good. Oh, you’re good.”

“So…” Lynne said. “Are you…helping us?”

The furry figure swiveled to face the oncoming enemy. “They’re frightened…” he murmured, almost too softly to hear. “Good.” He began to dance, frenzied movements that seemed to make the onrushing soldiers even more antsy.

“I just hope! The rowdies! Don't rush the caves!” he panted out over his shoulder.

“The rowdies?” Lynne shook her head in bemusement. “I’ve heard of you before. I think. Moogles, right? What do you need from us?”

“When you don't know! What else to do! Dance! Dance! Dance!" he said, already panting with his exertions. “Take advantage! Of this glorious dance! That’s been passed down by my people! For generations!”

“ _Huh_?” Lynne and Missile said together.

“Just get out there and fight! While I do! My Panic Dance!”


	19. Mourning a Loved One

The castle Matron sat, sobbing, in the nursery, holding the small stuffed chocobo that Kamila had never paid much attention to, but which had been a gift from Alma’s sister. Rindge stood with her, his movements awkward as he patted her back. Alma had been avoiding this room for some time, but she’d been looking for Rindge for nearly an hour, and having tracked him down, she wished, just a little, that she hadn’t.

The Matron looked up, her eyes red-rimmed from days of weeping, hair in disarray. “Oh, your M-Majesty, I… I’m so sorry, I let her be taken…” She hesitated, then went on. “My lady, I—I trusted the ambassador…”

Alma’s face was a mask of calm detachment, although her eyes burned in her pale face. “No, Matron. You did nothing wrong. No one here is to blame for the choices we made.”

“Your Majesty, surely you’re not saying _you’re_ to blame…?” Rindge said, frowning.

“No. The Empire has fooled us all.” Alma said, her voice cold, but it warmed as she knelt next to the Matron. Her fingers trembled as she stroked the chocobo. “But we… _I_ still believe that I’ll see them again. I have to trust our…friend knows what he’s doing, even though he hasn’t sent us any news.”

“But…but…” the Matron burst into tears again. “But her Highness! And your family…!”

“Please.” Alma didn’t look up. “You did nothing wrong, dear Matron, but I cannot speak about this with you right now. Please…don’t ask that of me.” She took the toy. “Kamila never…was much for stuffed animals,” she said. “She preferred the real ones if she had the choice.” She got up and walked over to the shelf, putting it next to the princess’s abandoned toolbox. “Jowd’s father gave her these tools, you know.”

She went back to the Matron and drew her up, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself.” She looked to Rindge, whose face was shadowed, although his shoulders trembled. “You either. Figaro owes you both much...and we shall continue to do so. I thank you both for your loyalty.”

She ushered them out the door and watched them down the hallway, then looked back at the neat, tidy, lifeless room. The chocobo had fallen against the toolbox and her eyes lingered on it as she blew out the lamp. The tears she couldn’t let fall dimmed her eyes, and she fled, leaving the room open. No one watching her would know she’d been routed, but nevertheless, she retreated with dignified step back to rooms less dangerous to her hard-kept composure.


	20. Lost

Amelie stretched as she left the inn, feeling pleased with herself. At last she’d heard some actual credible information as to the whereabouts of the princess; the news from the last time she’d met the Queen has lead her to hunt down this crusty pub in Nikeah, where she’d out-blustered a ship’s captain there, recently removed from his cushy job in the Empire, into giving her information about the Imperial shipping routes. She’d been so many places in her long search for Kamila. Many towns, many places she knew her mother would absolutely die if she knew where her daughter was.

But it didn’t matter! Kamila was her friend! And Lynne would never let her friends be lost for this long! Amelie owed it to both of them to find her. So now…which way to the docks? And from there…which way to this mysterious city, Thamasa?


	21. "This, this made it all worth it."

At first it had started out as lighthearted; Lynne sent a record of her favorite songs, recorded at the opera house, about the “brave green-haired mistress of the skies”, so Memry sent a book about the “bold Returner lass with the heart of flame and the hair to match.” Lynne sent a letter with a few choice words about that ridiculous burn, Memry sent a tonic, hand-mixed in Thamasa, as a soothing ointment. By that time, they were having too much fun to stop, and they sent letters with increasingly ridiculous items back and forth until postmasters across the land were bewildered by their pigeons coming back and forth with exotic items from hither and yon.

It was Memry who wrote that final, unsigned letter; it merely said that she always got what she wanted most. Lynne deliberated for a long time,and finally made a trip out to the opera house, taking the long voyage by land and ship at a steady pace. When she arrived at last, she ignored the interior, merely making her own way to the top of the opera house, and sat there, waiting in the setting sun. When Memry came to her, the moon had risen and Lynne climbed onboard the Vanguard under its yellow light.

“So. Have you guessed what I want most?” Memry asked.

Lynne gave her a faint smile, and for once in her life, said very little. If pictures speak a thousand words, perhaps kisses speak even more. And as it turned out, her deductive skills had served her well this time; she’d guessed exactly right.

“What was with all the other stuff?” Memry asked her later. “The record and the hat and all?”

Lynne shrugged. “They seemed like things you’d like! I’m not Cabanela, flirting doesn’t come as naturally to me as breathing like it does him.”

Memry blinked, then roared with laughter. “Did you ask _him_ for advice?”

“What? No! Well, maybe. A little. In the beginning.” Lynne said with dignity. “That guy has pining down to a fine art, you know that. I didn’t want to go _that_ far, but I just figured…”

Memry, still chuckling, kissed her again, since she wanted to, and she could. “This was already the best, but I gotta say that made it ALL worth it, even including how we met.”

Lynne smiled too, her lips curving against Memry’s. “I should hope so.”


	22. Withdrawal

Kamila knocked on Cidgeon’s newly-bestowed door, hoping he had time for a quick tutorial on a piece of the castle that had been stymying her efforts to tune it all morning. Instead of the grumpy greeting she’d expected, there was only silence in response. She was reasonably sure he was in, but repeated knocks only caused the door to swing in, just a little. The room beyond was dim, hard to see.

“Gramps?” she called. No answer. “Should I… close the door?” Still no answer. She poked her head around to make sure he was all right, and the door swung open a little more. She edged in, figuring better to be safe than sorry.

Cidgeon lay asleep on his desk, arms curled around his coat, upon which sat Lovey, who looked absolutely miserable. She was hunched into herself, feathers ruffled; her eyes stared out at the world in irritable resignation.

“Oh, no, Lovey, what happened?” Kamila whispered. She walked over and offered a quick head-scratch. The pigeon jerked away from it. She wouldn’t go so far as to nip at Kamila, but she certainly looked as though she were thinking about it. Her feathers ruffled, the machinery in her wings clicking and hitching in a way that Kamila, long tuned to how it worked, could hear was off. 

She reached out, more carefully this time, and gingerly touched the machinery. Lovey let her, but the small noise the pigeon made caused Cidgeon’s eyes to snap open and he jerked his head up with a snort.

“Stay ba—oh.” His eyes, fierce and diamond hard, softened when they met hers. It was rare to see him without his spectacles, but they hung from his neck and had caused his face to wrinkle in an odd way.

“Gramps, what--?”

“She was living on the magic,” he said shortly. “Magitek repairs kept her going.”

“But…I thought those weird stones Papa drew, there at the end…”

“Yeah, hers keeps her alive but the wing machinery is still part of her,” he said, peering at it. “It’d be better if it wasn’t, but those stones stop her time and make it so I can’t take it off. She’s in a kind of withdrawal, I think. Without the magic the wings don’t work right, but… ”

“So she can’t fly or do anything?” Kamila said, horrified.

“Hmph. She can and she will,” Cidgeon said, “but she has to wean herself off the need for magic.”

“Oh, poor Lovey,” Kamila said, her face twisting. “Isn’t there anything we can do, Gramps?”

Cidgeon didn’t often let on when he was worried, but Lovey was a different story and they both knew it. “You can help me make her stretch that wing and use it,” he said slowly. “She needs to know it still works, just not the same way.”

Kamila nodded, distress melting into determination. “Anything for our Lovey-Dove!”


	23. Sleep Deprivation

Memry narrowed her eyes against the chilly wind and pulled hard against the wheel. The Ladybird was still a work in progress; she’d been working non-stop for a week to ensure the precise calibration of the rudders. Rindge hung over her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Your reaction times are starting to get a little off. Maybe even a _lottle_ off.”

“Hmph. _You’re_ a… little off,” Memry retorted with a yawn as the ship skewed to the left, and she fought to get it back on track.. “Just go back to _your_ Ladybird or whatever you’re calling it and leave me be.”

“The Vanguard,” he said, frowning at her, “is fine. I don’t understand why you’re in such a hurry to finish.”

“Because I want it to be ready!” she said, then yawned again. “Everyone’s gonna see… what I can do…”

“Seriously? That quick?” Rindge sighed as Memry slumped against the wheel. “There’s absolutely no way I’m carrying you to bed, you know.”

“No thanks,” Memry mumbled. “Just gonna…land her here, and take a catnap.”

Rindge peered over the railing. “Nope, bad idea.” He took the wheel, moving her bodily aside. “The ocean below says we’re not landing here.”

“Fine, where do you suggest,” Memry said, blinking slowly.

He thought. “The Kingdom of Figaro isn’t far; how about there?”

She sat bolt upright. “Isn’t that where Cabanela was stationed?”

He gave her a look. “Who?”

“Oh, you’re gonna love him,” Memry said enthusiastically. “He’s…” she broke off to yawn again. “Actually, maybe not now? Wanna show him the lady when she’s ready.”

Rindge shrugged. “Whatever, I’m just steering.”

“How about Kohlingen…?” she said, and she slumped against him. “I know some folks…”

She slid to the deck and lay bonelessly, sprawled out like a child. Rindge rolled his eyes. “Kohlingen it is, but you’re just gonna have to stay there. Why didn’t you sleep? You’re such an odd girl…”

“Takes one to know one probably,” she mumbled, and felt for a blanket in the box she kept by the wheel. “I’m good here. Just let me know when we get there.”


	24. Forced Mutism

Memry raced past Alma as she carefully carried a tray to Jowd, whose cold still lingered. Alma stepped aside, balancing it easily. Behind her, in hot pursuit, ran Lynne and Missile. They both had their mouths open; there should have been utter cacophony, but all Alma heard was Memry chortling helplessly.

“Hmm?” She raised an eyebrow and Lynne stopped, gesturing furiously, while Missile shot forward, still barking soundlessly.

“They deserved it, probably!” Memry yelled back, and then said, “Hey, stop, down boy, no, sto—” The protests receded as they headed out onto the deck.

Lynne made pleading eyes at Alma. Her queen snorted and gestured with her head at the packs. “Missile is supposed to be the one with the puppy eyes around here, but I have some echo grass in there, that should help.” Lynne nodded and started for them, but Alma stopped her. “I _also_ have some Figaro Tea, if that would interest you…” and she grinned. “And, hey. Do it right and she’ll never hear you coming.”


	25. Disorientation

Cait Sissel floated in a vast blue sea, sinking, ever sinking. She swished her fingers through the “water” and felt nothing at all, not even the tiniest pressure of a current. Curiously, she didn’t need to breathe, but when she opened her mouth no sound escaped. She hung there for a timeless eon, trying to remember how she’d gotten here.

She remembered attacking the doctor, and Cidgeon and the big man in the painter’s smock being warped out, and then nothing. Where could she be? Perhaps this was all a dream, and she was even now sleeping in her bed back at home. But even the thought felt wrong, and she twisted away from it. Too much had happened to believe in that safety.

Her vision swam, along with the rest of her, and a blue flame flickered to life. It seemed to watch her no matter how she tried to avoid its gaze. She squirmed, blinking rapidly to clear the vision, and the flame turned into a familiar yellow, tall-groomed hairstyle walking away from her through the darkness of the abyss. She mouthed his name and ran after him, chasing after him into eternity so she wouldn’t be left alone again.


	26. "How about you trust me for once?"

Kamila sulked in Memry’s tiny bedroom on the Ladybird, irritated that yet again, Memry had pulled her away from the engines. She’d been on this airship for a _week_ while Memry, apparently aimlessly, zigzagged around. She _said_ she was throwing off pursuers but…well. Kamila trusted Uncle Cabs and he’d put her on this ship with this woman, but Memry was…odd. Kamila didn’t know how else to say it.

Memry poked her head around the door. “Hey, kid, still pouting?”

“No,” Kamila said with dignity. She was pretty sure princesses didn’t pout. When she saw her parents again, they could be proud of her for not pouting. “I _could_ have helped though.”

“Hmmph.” Memry shrugged. “You could have broken the engines too and then we’d be stuck out in the ocean.”

“Hey!” Kamila sat straight in indignation. “That’s not fair! I’m not as clumsy as that!”

Memry eyed her, forbearing to mention the several broken tools that had happened in the last week. “Maybe you’re not usually, but…”

Kamila sniffed back the angry tears. “You could trust me.”

“You don’t trust _me_ ,” Memry pointed out in what she probably thought were reasonable tones. “So why should I?”

“Because…because….Uncle Cabs said so!” Kamila retorted.

Memry flushed. “Yeah, well, your Uncle Cabs is a bad judge of character, clearly. Still hanging out with the Empire and all…” she tapped a finger on the corner of her mouth. “Well, he always was a little odd. That’s why I…” she cut her eyes to Kamila. “You know what, never mind.”

Kamila’s face went mutinous. “You take that back. My mom and my dad trust him and I do too. Odd or not!”

“Yeah, well, get used to odd.” Memry said cheerfully. “Where we’re going, there’s nothing but.”

Kamila jerked her chin up, glaring at Memry. “And how long will that be?”

“Oh, any day now,” Memry said carelessly. “Just chill. And _don’t_ touch my engines.” She closed the door on Kamila’s fury and walked back to the deck to relieve the pilot.

Kamila stared out the window. There was a town in the distance; they weren’t so high up now, and the airship was drifting slowly. She knew where there was some rope and probably some other things she could use. She could take care of herself, just like her parents and Uncle Cabs, and if Memry didn’t trust her, that was the odd girl’s loss.


	27. Earthquake

Alma and Cabanela settled into their seats, although he‘d wrapped them both in his vanish spell so that no one could see them up in the box. They had both heard the stentorian tones of the propmistress when they walked in; she’d been haranguing the impresario over something. It sounded complicated. Alma had looked at Cabanela, he’d looked back, and they’d bought their tickets and fle— _walked very quickly_ to the other box entrance, far away from the cast rooms.

As the opera began, Alma sank quickly into the story, an enjoyable romp through time and space, but Cabanela seemed restless.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Not suuure,” he said slowly. “Something feels…off?”

The show continued, and the heroes faced their final foe on stage, accompanied by flashing lights, changing backdrops, complicated music, and a great deal of fighting spread out over several phases. As the great evil died, the entire building shook as the last remaining tiny monster core shivered into light and disappeared through some kind of stage magic unlike any of the spells they knew.

Alma and Cabanela looked down, realizing that the Vanish spell had disappeared. Something there had been an actual spell, although it hadn’t hurt them. Cabanela quickly reapplied it, and they hurried downstairs, only to nearly bump into the propmistress and the impresario chatting. Unusually, she was smiling.

“Did you _see_ that? It was perfect!” she proclaimed. “We’re keeping her.”

“Nope. No way.” The Impresario insisted. “I’m the owner of this place and I say it’s way too dangerous—”

Her eyes flashed. “We’re keeping her, and she’s going to be the _star_ of the next show! Can’t you just see it? It’ll be a story about a heroic quest! There’ll be ten sequels, maybe more!”

Alma murmured, “Should we ask?”

Cabanela whispered back, “And break our cover? Nah, baby. Let’s go check out what Jowd’s up to in Jidoor.”


	28. Hunting Season

Cigeon and Kamila approached Thamasa, Kamila talking animatedly about the various things she’d seen on that particular trip and all the new things Lovey had scanned. The town elder met them at the entrance, his face a thundercloud.

“Cidgeon.” He scowled at the professor. “We need to talk.” He pointed to the house in which Cidgeon and Kamila resided. “Amelie, a moment of privacy please.”

Kamila, missing her friend as always when they used her borrowed name, nodded, but Cidgeon stopped her as she began to walk away.

“What you have to say can be said to her too,” he said, his voice calm. “She’s earned the right by now.”

“She’s _still_ an outsider,” protested the Elder. “What you…chose to show her is your business but you place the town at risk.”

Kamila stiffened. “I would never.” She frowned. “This _is_ about the magic, right?”

“Shh!” the elder scolded her and looked around frantically. “There’s none of that here! And you shouldn’t talk about it even if you knew about it…or it existed!”

Kamila shot him the kind of jaded smile only a seven year old can give. “Gramps isn’t the one who told me about it anyway,” she informed him. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Who told you then?” he demanded. “Was it Memry?”

Kamila gave him her best blank-eyed stare. _She_ could keep a secret if no one else in the village could, and much as the odd girl had infuriated her a season ago, Kamila wasn’t going to rat her out. Nor the boy she’d seen…and not Uncle Cabs either.

“Does it matter?” Cidgeon said. “She lives here now. She’s no more an outsider than I am.”

The Elder snorted. “Not saying much there.”

Cidgeon raised a brow. “We could leave for good and then who would give you info from the Empire?”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” the Elder said, waving his hands. “Look, it’s hunting season and we always need food for the village stores. If she can be helpful, then…”

Kamila gave him a satisfied smile and said “I’m doing that already! Right Gramps?”

“ _You_ don’t really get to place conditionals on her,” Cidgeon added, his voice dry. “But she’s right. She _is_ helpful and has already been out with me. You just keep your mouth shut and let Ka—Amelie here be.”

The Elder sighed and shrugged. “Fine, on your head be it. Just…do as you want.” He turned away and muttered “You always do, after all.”

Cidgeon scoffed, and looked down at Kamila, his eyes softening. “Ready to go make dinner? There’s some of that Briareus you helped me take down the other day.”

Kamila beamed with pride. It was so nice to be wanted…and the rest of the village would get to appreciate her soon enough, she hoped, before she went back to Figaro and her parents.


	29. "Back up!"

Yomiel sat in the dark, allowing it to wash over him. How many years had he been down here in this Zone Eater, allowing himself to rot—or not, as the case may be—in the depths? It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He’d run afoul of this curse and here was where he’d end. He hadn’t really planned to live forever, especially after Cait Sissel had died, but if he had to, he might as well live down here, where the only other people were the strange and unusual men that seemed to serve the Zone Eater’s needs. Maybe eventually he’d be just like them. In the meantime, he felt nothing. It was a type of life, he supposed. Or a type of death anyway.

“Back up!” He heard the words from out in the caves, and the falling ceiling trap sprang, thwumping to the ground. Someone was coming to him, it seemed. If he could have groaned, he would have. He’d managed to control the urges to attack the other men by dint of deep meditation, but it was hard. Perhaps he could frighten them away? Or perhaps the traps would get them.

“Ugh! That was cheap!” They were complaining now? Well, whatever. He readied himself, then froze at the next words he heard.

“Stop complaining, Lynne!” Her voice was light and teasing. It was achingly familiar. Yomiel had thought he was past ache, but something there resonated with something in him.

“Hey! These treasure chests bounce up and down.” There was a great deal of clicking from the chamber outside Yomiel’s room. “Hmm. This is fun.”

“Now Sissel…” there was more clicking. “Hmm. This _is_ fun.” There were more scrambling noises. “I'm gonna get you!"

“Will you two _please_ stop being cats for, like, five minutes?” Another voice, but Yomiel barely heard them. This was…impossible. She couldn’t be here. And Sissel? He hadn’t survived the Empire’s incursion. They couldn’t be here, he couldn’t allow himself to hurt them—

The door swung open.

His voice had been stolen by the zombification, so Yomiel held himself as still as possible. Maybe they’d think he was a statue, or some kind of pile of junk, with all the bits and pieces of things the Zone Eater had swallowed over the years.

“So it was true!” A red-haired young woman walked up to him, peering at him curiously. “We heard someone was down here.”

“There were several someones down here,” pointed out the green-haired one next to her. “And they all attacked on sight.”

Yomiel twitched, but stopped himself. He could do this. He would _not_ attack.

A cat hopped up onto the red-haired one’s shoulder. _“He smells familiar.”_

Yomiel blinked, and his careful calm shattered. His arm was moving before he could stop it, and the red-haired dodged. “Whoops! Looks like this one’s an attacker too.”

“No, wait!” the green-haired one said. “I remember this. Bailey told me about it.” She turned, and called back to someone else who still hung outside the door. “Hey, Cait Sissel. You got anything that might bring back the dead?”

“You know I do,” the young woman who stepped in said, sniffing at the green-haired girl. “I—” Her ears twitched. “ _Yomiel?”_

She flung herself at him. By dint of huge, massive mental effort, he managed to mimic her and jump past her so she wouldn’t get hit. What an irony. She wasn’t dead but he was? He wanted to yell and shout and sing, or cry and howl and die for real.

“Wait, Yomiel, I can help you—” Cait Sissel flung out a hand and magic washed over him. He’d thought he’d never feel that cool warmth again after he left the Esper World and he’d died. It felt like being reborn, and he staggered, then sat, as life returned to him in a vast, overwhelming wave.


	30. "Just say it"

“Come on, just say it.”

“No.”

“Just once.”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“So you _will_ say it?”

“If I had to.”

“Well, you do.”

“…I say it to _you_ all the time.”

“Yes, and I love hearing it, and I love you back.”

“Well then.”

“Well, Cabanela needs to hear it from you too, and you know it.”

“Well if people need things from me that’s on them, isn’t it?”

“Jowd.”

“It is.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t said it to him even _once_ since he found you.”

“He knows I do.”

“Does he? Are you sure?”

“Of course he does.”

“How many months has it been again? Since you reunited?”

“…it doesn’t matter.”

“ _Jowd.”_

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Am _I_ the one you need to apologize to?”

“…Probably not.”

“So just go tell him.”

“...”

“You know, when you’re like this, you’re impossible.”

“That’s the goal.”

“Ugh. Will you _please_ tell him soon? I know you’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“…Maybe.”


	31. "I trust you"

Jowd paused outside the door, looking over Cabanela. He pored over charts, planning late into the night, every night. They all knew the time was coming, and all too soon. Life was returning to the world below. Jowd could even feel it in himself, the smallest unfurlings of a hope unwithered and still green on the vine.

Cabanela looked up, his eyes unfocused, but they sharpened as they caught Jowd’s gaze. Whatever he saw there, Cabanela’s face shuttered and he dropped his attention back to the paper again. Jowd blinked against the sudden pang of hurt. That hadn’t been what was supposed to happen.

“What are you working on there?” he said, voice a little rough.

“The third party’s plaaan of attack,” Cabanela said, his finger scratching busily across the charts. “We’re all going to have to go in by airship but I think it’s best if we split up—”

Jowd caught his eyes and Cabanela went silent before soldiering relentlessly on. “Anyhoot, if it haaappens like I think we will, we’ll meet up again before…you know.”

“We could just make it into a nice kickline,” Jowd said, his tone sardonic. “Waltz together right on in there.”

“Hmm? Baby, I can’t hear you when you whisper,” Cabanela said. “Sounded like you said we didn’t need to split.”

“No, I’ll let you make the plans,” Jowd said. “I—” He wanted to say it. Alma’s voice rang in his mind, pleading with him. But Cabanela’s face just now, shuttered and closed against him, stopped Jowd from what he really wanted to say, and he replaced it with a weaker, “I trust you.”

Cabanela shot him a warmer grin, then looked back down at his charts. “Thanks, baby. Took you long enough.”

Jowd turned away. He couldn’t say what Alma had wanted him to now. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel it. Of course he did. He always had. But it was worthless in this moment.

The time would come. Another day, when they all went home.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested in taking part in Whumptober 2020, you can check out the prompts [here](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/). If you are interested in Fictober, check these [here](https://fictober-event.tumblr.com/prompts20)!
> 
> Now that I'm done and posted (4 minutes after the deadline, of course. It is Ghost Trick after all? Sissel, save me.) I will say many of these singularly fail to be whumpy, but they certainly were fun to write! I hope you enjoyed these little snippets of the GT AU-- and I urgently direct you to my series page for more by best co-conspirators and friends Siver and laughingpineapple!


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